


keep for me your sweetness

by synchronized_strangers



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Crash Landing, First Kiss, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt Kirk, Hypothermia, K/S Advent Calendar 2016, Kirk Loses His Shirt, M/M, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Sharing Body Heat, Sheltering in a Cave, Snow, ion storm, sharing memories, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-02 20:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8682481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronized_strangers/pseuds/synchronized_strangers
Summary: On their first mission out after Into Darkness, Jim and Spock crash land a shuttle in the middle of an ion storm. When they end up trapped in the bottom of a canyon, huddled together for warmth, they might finally have to confront what hasn't been said in the six months since Khan.
OR
How many tropes can I fit in a single fic?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story started because I wanted to see Spock tell Jim about his mother and spiraled wildly out of control into this angsty mess. Warnings for content are posted at the end along with a translation of the Vulcan they use. If there is anything I have forgotten to tag for please let me know and I'll add it.
> 
> I want to thank the mods at K/S Advent for all the hard work they do and for continuing this tradition. :) You should all check out the [full calendar](http://ksadvent.livejournal.com).

“Scotty, I need a straightforward answer here and I need it five seconds ago. Why are we falling out of the sky?” Jim was only half listening to the engineer. Most of his attention was focused on the shuttle readings and the rapidly approaching ground.

“I understand, sir, but I’m not getting clear readings. You went straight into that storm when you lost altitude. I cannot see what’s happening.”

Jim clenched his jaw. Scotty never said never so if he was saying never, it was bad.

Spock was wrestling with the steering, the muscles in his upper body corded and straining, visible even through the thermal layer he always wore, trying to correct their y axis tilt. “Captain, I will not be able to keep our descent controlled for much longer. There is not enough thrust to gain altitude.”

“I know, Spock.” For a moment, their eyes met across the shaking console. Spock’s concern was well concealed except that Jim knew him too well not to see it. It was in the line of Spock’s mouth, the set of his eyebrows. He looked beautiful, fierce and alien and familiar all at once. “Keep the nose up if you can.” He didn’t say, ‘ _when we crash_ ,’ but judging by the flash of Spock’s eyes he heard it anyway.

Because they were going to crash and now he knew that Jim knew that, too.

Jim turned away, redirecting as much power as he could into the thrusters to help even out their descent. He cut console lights first. If he had the controls memorized so did Spock. Environmental controls went next and instantly the temperature started rising. “Scotty, you’re acting captain in our absence. Mr. Sulu, you are Scotty’s relief. You keep my ship in one piece until we get back.”

The silence on the open channel was unbearably ugly before Scotty said in a small voice, “Aye, sir.”

“I’m cutting communication until we’re on the ground. Kirk out.” He shut off everything except the hull lights and the bare bones life support issuing his override in a strange voice he didn’t recognize. It was eerily quiet in the tiny shuttle and the temperature was still rising, the trees seeming to rush up at them like maniacal broccoli stalks. He took a moment in the relative calm, allowing himself the small indulgence of looking at Spock.

He hadn’t had the chance to memorize Spock’s face the last time he was dying. His vision had already started to go by the time Spock arrived, so he gave himself permission to do it now. His eyes traced over the planes of Spock’s face, the long nose, the high cheekbones, his slightly upturned mouth. In the heat of the cabin, his face had a healthy green flush that set off his blue black hair dramatically.

_He must be so cold all the time_ , Jim realized.

Spock glanced at him, that little line forming between his eyebrows that only ever showed up when he was confused or worried. “Jim?” he asked, his voice soft despite the strain and whoever said Vulcans didn’t know how to imbue meaning in imprecise terms had no idea what they were talking about. Spock could give an entire speech with an eyebrow twitch.

He hoped he got to see it again. Nothing could make an unbearable conference with the Admiralty palatable like watching Spock bitchily judging their superiors without saying a damn word.

Jim swallowed, then he packed his feelings about Spock and potentially dying again away. He’d done everything he could except give the order and it was on him to do so. It was the price of the chair.

He was proud that his voice didn’t shake. “Take us down, Mr. Spock.”

Jim already knew they were in trouble, but the raw look in Spock’s eyes made his stomach drop out just the same. “Yes, captain.”

Jim turned back to his console and cut the life support to give Spock everything they had left. He kept his eyes locked on the physical altimeter, estimating their rate of descent. They were still coming in too fast but Spock had managed to correct the y axis and they were going to strike level. “Brace for impact in five, four, three, two…”

He didn’t remember losing consciousness but his last memory was of being thrown sideways against his harness, his head snapping forward and back. His ankle struck something hard under the console and Jim heard the wet crack of his ribs very clearly before he must have blacked out.

He opened his eyes to a greenish-gold sky, a slight feeling of cold wind against his cheek. The air tasted vaguely sulfuric. Somewhere close by he could hear water. He was alive. That was moderately surprising.

Jim sat up.

Correction, he tried to sit up and was rewarded for his efforts with the sudden stab of burning pain in his right side. “Fucking hell,” he swore, pressing a hand to the bones as if he could contain the ache somehow but also feeling that particularly odd satisfaction he got from physical pain. It was grounding, centering in a way he’d yet to find anywhere else. He would, of course, never ever admit that to Bones who was convinced Jim had a death wish, but hey, a coping mechanism was there to help you cope. No one said it had to be healthy, just that it had to get you through.

With a much healthier dose of respect for his injury, he sat up and looked around..

He was five or six meters away from the crashed shuttle, which would never, ever fly again, Jim was certain. The front hull was entirely caved in, steaming or smoking or something. He couldn’t be sure. There was a trail of broken earth and stone stretching back as far as Jim could see into the trees.

He rolled to his feet doing his best to keep his torso stable. His ankle protested but not enough to be a serious hinderance. It was already swelling, though, and he couldn’t put his full weight on it. He waited until he was standing to take a deep breath and called, “Spock!”

The Vulcan climbed gracefully out of the crumpled door frame, which, now he was looking at it, had been bent out. Spock had forced open the door from the inside following their crash. Jim shivered. Sometimes he forgot just how strong Spock really was compared to a human.

Compared to him.

As Spock crossed the distance between them Jim saw he was moving normally and there were no patches of green on his clothing that Jim could see. He looked relatively unharmed, barely a hair out of place and Jim let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

Still, you had to be sure with Vulcans. With this Vulcan. Jim didn’t have a lot of other Vulcan experience. “You okay, Spock?”

“Affirmative,” Spock answered, his eyes moving over Jim with downright visible concern. Maybe he looked rougher than he realized. Wouldn’t be the first time. “How are your injuries? I have been unable to find a working tricorder to scan you.”

Jim nodded, shifting his weight to rest on his bad ankle for a minute, assessing. “I’m a little banged up but nothing Bones can’t handle once we’re back on the ship.” He glanced at the wreckage a little dubiously. “I don’t suppose the communications system survived intact?”

“No, captain, but I am currently trying to bring communications back online.”

Jim shook his head. “Don’t bother with that. There could be a radiation leak in the shuttle.” He was proud his voice didn’t waver on the word radiation. “Just grab the crash supplies and then we’ll need to move farther out. There should be an emergency beacon and a communicator in the med kit we can use to reach the Enterprise.”

Jim insisted on carrying the smallest of the bags. No matter how strong Spock was, him carrying four bags was ridiculous when there were two of them.

He didn’t protest when Spock offered his arm, though. It made navigating the thick roots of the trees much easier and Spock’s hands finally stopped twitching from watching Jim stumble. He tried to keep his mind on walking in a straight line and not on the feel of Spock’s arm or the hard muscle shifting slightly under his fingertips.

He was grateful that Spock wore three layers of clothing and that it would be almost impossible for him to pick up Jim’s thoughts through the light contact. As often as he wished Spock didn’t dress like a priest, it served a very valid purpose. The less skin he could see, the less likely he was to accidentally touch.

Or intentionally touch if his impulse control failed him. It hadn’t yet but his track record wasn’t exactly great in that category. As a distraction he mentally reviewed the information they had on the planet. Class M, habitable for life forms type III through VII, minimal fauna, with a strangely low nitrogen plant based ecosystem.

All the atmospheric samples were probably ruined in the crash. Maybe Spock could still get some readings off their clothing when they beamed back on board.

“So much for an easy shakedown survey,” he grumbled.

Spock glanced at him briefly but the terrain was really rough. Navigating Jim over it wasn’t easy even with full attention. “Indeed. What is the phrase Mr. Scott is so fond of for describing a series of ill events?”

“Uh… Murphy’s Law? Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. That one, right?”

“Yes,” Spock agreed absently, his hands tensing as Jim stumbled. “It seems apt considering the circumstances. The shuttle should not have had a system failure of that caliber. It is statistically unlikely on any starship let alone under our engineering staff.”

A chill started somewhere in Jim’s gut. “You think it was sabotaged.”

“I believe we must consider that possibility.”

It was an ugly possibility. They had plenty of new faces in the wake of Khan but having to investigate your own crew was always demoralizing. Still, it was only six months after a particularly spectacular example of how even within Starfleet, there were always hidden agendas. There was a really good chance it was someone on board.

They stopped at the crest of the hill about thirty meters away from the crash site and maybe five meters from what looked like a pretty sheer drop off into the river below. They were upwind from the wreckage so they were relatively safe. Any radiation would be moving farther down the mountain with the breeze. They’d have to send in a salvage and clean up crew to repair the damage when they got back on board but with the ion storm in full swing, no one was going up or coming down for a while.

Spock unloaded the packs. In the first was an honest to god tent and Jim couldn’t help the laugh that spilled out.

Spock raised an eyebrow at the outburst.

“Sorry, it’s just funny that no matter how technologically advanced we get there are certain basics that never really go away.” Jim gestured to the trees surrounding them. “We have command of a ship that can warp anywhere in the galaxy, but stick us on the ground and we sleep under the same thin scrap of fabric our ancestors did.”

Spock blinked, his face a blank. “This must be remarkably durable fabric if it has survived since the time of our common ancestor.”

It was Jim’s turn to blink. “You just made a joke.”

“That is one potential interpretation of my statement,” Spock agreed, his face still perfectly bland and Jim grinned, hugely.

“You just made a joke. Bones will never believe me.” Jim chuckled, turning to the bag at his side to investigate its contents. If he hadn’t been watching he would have missed it, but from the corner of his eye he saw Spock’s mouth turn up very slightly.  A joke and a smile. Jim might die on this planet after all.

As he dug through the pack hoping to find a thermal -- it was seriously chilly -- he said, “So all those times you pretended not to understand what Bones was saying, you were just playing dumb?”

“Not entirely,” Spock answered, “His tendency toward idiom is excessive, even for a human. But I will admit that on occasion I have feigned ignorance of an idiom to hear people try to explain its meaning, the doctor included. It is interesting and very informative.”

“And the fact that it frustrates Bones to no end makes no difference to you at all, right?”

Spock once again wore a deliberately bland expression that Jim was coming to believe meant Spock was about to be a sarcastic asshole. “If Dr. McCoy does not wish to explain his meaning, he should use fewer analogies and metaphors.” Spock glanced up and added curiously, “Do you intend to inform him of this?”

“And ruin all your fun?” Jim winked, then made a triumphant sound as he pulled out the emergency med kit. “Let’s see if Scotty managed to break anything while I was out.” A thought occurred to him. “How long was I out, anyway?”

“Approximately nine minutes.”

Not anywhere near his personal record, then. His brain was almost certainly fine. The communicator came online with a small beep. Jim cleared his throat before calling, “This is Captain Kirk hailing the Enterprise. Enterprise, do you copy? Over.” No answer. “Kirk to Enterprise, do you read me? Over.”

He let the communicator fall to his thigh, resigned, then nearly jumped out of his skin when a burst of static came through.

“...prise to ground te…” It sounded like Uhura, but there was a lot of noise. The storm was no doubt interfering with the subspace transmission, notoriously shaky under even the best conditions. “...ound team, report. Ove…”

Jim brought the communicator up and said, “Ground to Enterprise, this is Captain Kirk. Commander Spock and I are alive. Repeat, we are both alive. Over.”

Spock came to kneel beside him, both of them focused on the communicator and its garbled message.

“...storm is getting wor… n’t get you until... epeat, cannot beam you…”

The gist of that was clear enough but they needed an estimate so they could prepare. There was a big difference between staying here a few hours versus a few days. “Lieutenant, your communication is unclear. Repeat, unclear. How long until rescue? Over.”

He brought the communicator up so it was equidistant between his ear and Spock’s, listening as intently as he could.

“...rteen hours. Repeat, approxima… irteen hours…” She tried to say something else but nothing came through clearly. Jim let his hand fall, turning to face Spock who looked as worried as he ever did, his eyes moving over Jim’s injuries in a way that was almost palpable.

Without thinking he put his hand lightly on Spock’s wrist and squeezed. “I’ll be fine, Spock. I’ve lived through worse than this.”

There was something in Spock’s face that said he was also thinking of the ‘worse’ things and didn’t find them nearly as comforting as Jim did.

All the things they hadn’t talked about in the last six months hung between them for a moment and he wondered if this was going to be it. If it was all going to come spilling out. He wasn’t willing to push the envelope if Spock wasn’t. He was too good an XO, too necessary for Jim to risk without some indication it would be welcome. And that was assuming Spock wanted to push the envelope in the first place.

Better to have a friend and a First Officer than to push his boundaries and have nothing.

_I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die… why I went back for you_...

Spock shivered and pulled away, the worry carefully wiped from his face like it had never existed and Jim wondered, not for the first time, if Spock’s telepathy wasn’t stronger than he knew. Or maybe he was shivering because of the weather. “I will scout the surrounding area, captain, unless you require assistance with administering first aid.”

Jim said, “No, commander,” falling back on titles as a means of reminding himself where he was and whom he was with, but he made no move to grab the tricorder. He’d been in enough fights and crashes to know when he was in trouble and he wasn’t yet. This was all superficial. It would be patched up and forgotten before Bones even jabbed him with the last hypo.

He watched as Spock moved off into the trees instead, his steps light and nimble. Seeing Spock in a wilderness was always captivating. He was so carefully controlled most of the time, but here it became obvious that Vulcans used to be apex predators. He stalked through the trees, stealthy somehow even though his science blues should have clashed with the yellowish-green light.

The change was difficult to define and might only have been that Jim’s perception of Spock changed in this kind of setting, but it was striking either way.

Apparently near death experiences made him introspective. Who knew.

It was only because he was watching Spock so closely that he saw it happen. Spock had reached the edge of the drop and was leaning forward, assessing their position when the rock under his feet cracked and crumbled. No more than three seconds passed between the noise and Spock dropping out of sight. There and gone before he could react.

Their eyes met in the same instant they realized what was happening and the pure panic in Spock’s took Jim a moment to process but once he had the thought slammed through him right along side the adrenaline.

_Spock can’t swim._

+

Spock did not have time to adjust his position. No sooner had his weight shifted forward than the rock crumbled beneath him, sending him over the cliff toward the river below.

He had time to meet Jim’s gaze, the blue eyes strikingly wide, frightened for him. He saw Jim reaching out futilely as though by force of will he could prevent Spock’s fall. It was strangely touching and Spock found himself grateful that one of his last sights would be of the captain.

As he was plummeting to his probable demise, Spock did not waste time considering the foolishness of the thought. He calculated his odds of survival at a meer 31% given the height of his fall, the apparent speed of the river, and his own lack of swimming ability. Less if the water temperature was colder than he expected. He understood the basic principles, of course, but Vulcans were not naturally buoyant being quite densely muscled. It was unlikely he would be able to keep himself above water with any regularity. He was simply not built for it.

He had just enough time to consider whether he might be best served by entering a trance to slow his breathing requirements when he struck the water and the impact temporarily stunned him. For several moments he experienced nothing but the panic of being submerged and acted irrationally, his arms and legs lashing at the surrounding water without his cognizance, his body instinctively fighting the unsettling pressure, the frightening weight of it surrounding him, invading him, the sudden frigid cold.

Spock was not bred for the water and this hideous intrusion was pure anathema.

The current was quick flowing and he was thrown against a rock with bruising force, his left side taking the brunt of the impact and his hands desperately scrabbling for purchase against the slick stone but despite his strength he could find none, his clawed hands digging uselessly at a build up of moss and rot. He was swept past before he could make a second attempt.

He came back to himself with an almost physical jolt, forcing the panic down, taking mental stock of his condition. It had been approximately thirty three seconds since he hit the water and he had not yet surfaced to breathe. He had lost some oxygen in his initial struggle and more when he struck the rock. He needed to breach the surface to breathe within the next one minute and forty seven seconds or it was likely he would begin to lose consciousness.

His eyes burned in the vaguely acidic water but he looked around to determine his orientation. He believed himself to be upside down and used his arms to attempt to correct his position. It was more difficult than he had anticipated with the force of the water buffeting him at all times and the chill making his limbs stiff. Another thirty seconds passed. His margin of error was rapidly narrowing before his ability to save himself would be compromised by physical weakness.

He attempted a different technique, relaxing into the pressure of the stream and trying to align his limbs to be more aerodynamic. It did allow him to stretch out horizontally in the water and he thought he was rising toward the surface but found it difficult to judge. The water was not opaque but neither was it clear and the light of the surface remained unhelpfully vague. He could not judge the distance or his relative success.

He lost another thirty seconds in the endeavor, his lungs beginning to burn with the desire for breath. He tried to push against the water with his arms flattening his hands for maximum effect and again found the results inconclusive. The river was quite deep and he was not close enough to the bottom to push off nor had he passed any rocks close enough for him to make a more concerted effort at grasping.

His estimation of 31%, he reflected, may have been too generous.

Still, he would not give up. So long as he was alive, there was a chance he could still aid the captain and it was his duty to do so if he could. Jim’s odds of survival without Spock were also greatly diminished.

Spock ruthlessly ignored the now insistent pressure in his chest demanding that he breathe and tried to kick as well, to slow his rapid pace and push himself up toward the surface he hoped was close. A shadow moved into his field of vision and Spock strained toward it. Perhaps it was a log or debris he could grab hold of.

The hand closing on his wrist was utterly unexpected but his body reacted almost without thought, grasping it firmly and pulling himself up. He sucked in a desperate gasp, including some spray from the water, as his head crested the surface. Relief at being saved warring with the still present panic, it took Spock a moment longer than it should have to process that his injured captain had just thrown himself off a cliff into a river to save him.

Jim’s arm wrapped tightly around Spock’s chest from behind, anchoring them firmly together. He felt Jim tense in the instant before they struck another rock, shielding Spock with his body and grunting, “I’ve got you, Spock. Just lean into me.” There was no hint in Jim’s voice of the pain he was certainly experiencing. Swimming was a full body activity and the captain’s ribs were no doubt in extreme pain already, but his grip was strong and Spock could feel him kicking powerfully despite his injured ankle.

Spock found it more difficult than it should have been to force himself to relax but once he did he understood why Jim had asked that he do so. With his body relaxed, Jim could keep them both afloat with comparative ease, directing their movement through the water with his legs and free arm.

Even with Spock’s compliance, it was obviously not easy for Jim to keep both their heads above water. Jim’s own face was often submerged to just below his nose as he guided their progress, steering them toward the near shore. It must have been agony and Spock wished to assist him in some way, but with his earlier ineptitude he feared any attempts he made to assist would be counterproductive.

It was unnecessary, in either case, as Jim had deftly manoeuvred them out of the strongest part of the current and seemed to be aiming them at a relatively flat stretch of rock.

Spock remained inert until he felt Jim’s feet strike the ground and then he twisted away, planting his own feet a little more forcefully than was completely necessary. The action served to satisfy some inner desire for control. Irrational but ultimately unimportant. What was far more pressing was Jim, who had pulled himself closer to the shore but was in distress, a deep groan escaping as he forced himself to stand. The impact alone would have worsened his injuries, let alone the exertion on his already stressed body.

Spock was there in an instant, taking the captain by the arm to assist him out of the water and to provide balance on the still slippery rocks. With his ankle already sprained, a fall could cause Jim serious damage.

“Are you all right, Spock?” His hands were shaking with the aftermath of adrenaline, but his smile was genuine; the soft smile Spock had only ever seen directed at him.

“I should be asking you that, captain. Have your injuries worsened?”

Jim breathed shallowly, wincing slightly when he was forced to tense his stomach. “Nothing that wasn’t already broken. I’m fine, for a given definition of the word.”

Spock tried to control the anger he felt at Jim’s casual disregard of his own health. “I do not think there are many humans who would agree with your current parameters.”

Jim huffed, dropping with a thud now that they were safely clear of the high water line. “Don’t make me laugh, Spock. My ribs can’t take it.” Jim reached up to remove the strap around his chest that Spock had failed to note during their time in the water. One of their salvaged bags from the crash site.

Jim looked up at him. “I only had time to grab this. I was afraid if I went in too long after you I would… lose you.”

While it was entirely possible that the captain meant lose in the physical sense, Spock had the distinct impression from the intensity of Jim’s gaze that he was speaking figuratively of Spock’s death. His anger dissipated as quickly as it had come.

Spock dropped to one knee so that the captain needn’t strain his neck looking up. “I am grateful that you did not. I had… very little chance of rescuing myself.” He didn’t think Jim would appreciate the specifics and censored himself from providing them.

There was a long moment where Jim did not look away and Spock became intensely aware of his own heartbeat, a strange, tight feeling centered on the organ in reaction to Jim’s regard. It was something he had noted on many occasions but which was particularly difficult to ignore in the present moment.

He found himself wanting to reach out and run his fingers along the back of Jim’s hand, a desire which was wholly inappropriate given their current situation but which persisted despite that.

As though he were the telepath Jim reached out instead, his hand coming to rest on Spock’s shoulder, his thumb less than a millimeter away from the skin of Spock’s neck judging by the pressure and heat. The feeling in his side intensified, flared brightly at this near contact and caused Spock’s heart rate to increase by 4%, his breathing by 3%. He could feel the pressure of Jim’s mind against his own, equally near.

Jim swallowed thickly, smiling in a way that held no joy. “Don’t get lost, Spock.”

Careful not to allow himself direct contact, uncertain of his ability to maintain distance and control, Spock brought his hand to the captain’s forearm. “ _Ka’i._ ”

For a moment he considered clarifying, but as usual, Jim exceeded Spock’s expectations, replying in nearly accentless Vulcan, “ _Rom, yi nam-tor ish-veh klopau_.” It was strangely intimate hearing his native language on Jim’s lips, a small thrill running through him as though the action was somehow illicit. Although Nyota and he had often conversed in Vulcan simply for clarity’s sake, the experience had never had this effect on him.

Perhaps it was the clear implication that Jim had learned Vulcan for Spock. Or perhaps it was only that they used the language infrequently and the effect would fade with time.

Jim pulled away slowly and Spock immediately missed the warmth and pressure of Jim’s hand. He would need to meditate at the nearest opportunity to reflect on his emotional responses today and how he could better manage his romantic feelings, but as it would likely be at least another night before the Enterprise could get to them, he set the feeling aside. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

Jim was opening the bag to ascertain which supplies he’d managed to bring. Spock stood and looked around for anything useful that might be nearby. They were quite exposed in their current position but there were no clear paths up and out of the canyon. The walls were not quite vertical here, ascending at an approximate eighty-five degree angle but in his current condition it would be unwise for Jim to attempt a climb and Spock was not sure he could carry him safely up the face. The stone had proven brittle under Spock’s weight alone. He could almost certainly make the climb and then devise a method to draw the captain up but unless it became necessary, he preferred not to separate.

“Looks like I managed to save the first aid kit so that’s good. We still have the communicator. There are some emergency rations and a thermal blanket but I’m afraid there’s nothing in here that’ll help us get dry.” Jim smirked wryly at Spock. “Good thing that water is only slightly freezing or we’d be in real trouble.”

Spock did not point out his own already low body temperature or the fact that under current conditions both he and Jim would begin to suffer from hypothermia within the next hour unless they could minimize their heat loss.

He said, “There is a small cave here at the base of the cliff, captain. I believe it is uninhabited. It should suffice as a shelter.”

“Sounds positively dreamy.” Jim leveraged himself up, his hand pressed firmly against his injured side. Spock noticed a fresh abrasion on his neck bleeding sluggishly and a large bruise forming around it extending down his neck under the cover of his shirt. “I don’t suppose there’s also a nice set of steps carved up to the top, is there?” Spock did not bother to respond, recognizing the rhetorical nature of the question. “Didn’t think so.”

While Jim made his way to the cave, Spock walked the rest of the accessible area shivering slightly as the last of his adrenal response faded. Fortunately there was little wind at the bottom of the canyon. The storm was likely moving in a perpendicular direction to the gorge, the wind passing harmlessly overhead without sweeping down and through. He found only a few pieces of driftwood but nothing else. It was remarkably clean of debris, likely due to periodic flooding, a possibility that presented a very real danger to them in their current position. A closer look at the rock face did indeed indicate that the walls were somewhat regularly smoothed by water pressure.

A glance at Jim revealed he was currently assessing the same possibility, his eyes scanning the wall for potential climbing routes. There were only three that Spock could definitively say were within his capability, four that he could be reasonably certain of making. None of them looked suitable for Jim, or for Spock burdened with Jim.

“Looks like we’re camping, Mr. Spock.”

Jim crouched to examine the cave, keeping all his weight centered on his uninjured leg. It was a curiously elegant motion for a human, very carefully performed. On Jim it looked almost unnatural. The captain always moved freely, his body loose-limbed and casual. It was often a deceptive relaxation but nonetheless, Spock found its absence and the painful implications troubling.

Jim turned to smile up at Spock. It was not innocent, nor was his tone when he asked, “Do you want to be the big spoon or the little spoon?”

Spock felt a flush spread from the tips of his ears down across his cheeks as he parsed Jim’s meaning and hoped the green tint to the air here would conceal it. “I have no preference on the matter,” Spock said, his tone sounding stiffly formal even in his own ears, but Jim continued to grin so perhaps his reaction was better concealed than he feared.

+

It was a really, really small cave. Jim was having trouble deciding whether to be grateful or horrified. On the one hand, the space was exactly large enough for two men of their size to spoon. On the other hand, the space was exactly small enough that two men of their size had to spoon. With the thermal blanket blocking most of the entrance, it was warm enough that Spock had stopped shivering and now that Jim had no reason to worry, he was starting to pay attention to the fact that there was a firm, lean body pressed into him radiating heat. A lot of heat, and not that he could have forgotten where he was or who he was with anyway but that heat made it singularly difficult to focus on anything else.

He wasn’t harboring any illusions. There was zero chance of anything sexual. He was too beat up and Spock was… Well, possibly also too beat up, but Spock was Spock and Jim wasn’t going to take advantage or make him uncomfortable.

He was 100% cataloguing every nuance of this experience for revisitation later, in his quarters, alone.

Being slightly taller, Jim had nominated Spock as the big spoon and Spock was now pressed along Jim from knee to nape, his one arm resting under Jim’s neck like a pillow, his other wrapped around his waist. He could feel Spock’s pulse against his side, Spock’s breath against the back of his neck and while it was definitely arousing it was also really, really nice in a way he hadn’t been prepared for.

Most of Jim’s sexual encounters were with women although he’d had more than his fair share of men and also probably more than his fair share of beings who identified as neither. Generally if there was any cuddling, a rarity in and of itself, he was the big spoon. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been held by someone. It was comforting. Even with his broken ribs and his back bruised all to hell, he was deeply relaxed.

“Hey, Spock, you’re not doing anything to me psychically speaking, are you?”

Spock stiffened noticeably. “No, but if you mistrust our proximity--”

Jim clamped his hand down on Spock’s wrist to prevent him from moving away. “No! No, that’s not what I meant. Of course I trust you, Spock. I just meant that I’m feeling better physically than I would expect and I wondered if you had anything to do with it. Like if you were blocking my pain or anything.”

Slowly, Spock relaxed, his voice on what Jim privately thought of as the softer end of the Vulcan spectrum. “I am not, but I am glad you are in less distress than expected. I would never intentionally infringe on your privacy in such a manner.”

It was Jim’s turn to stiffen because he hadn’t missed that particular distinction; his voice was a little rougher than expected when he asked, “Intentionally?”

Spock wasn’t human so he didn’t sigh, but Jim was pretty sure Spock had made an art of not-doing-things very communicatively. Spock was currently not-sighing as Jim once again trampled indelicately over what he would almost certainly prefer not to discuss in their current circumstance. “Correct, captain. Intentionally.”

Jim swallowed reflexively, mentally tallying all of the extremely inappropriate things he’d been thinking for the last thirty minutes, fully aware that Spock could feel his heart beating faster. He spared about thirty seconds to consider what he was inviting by asking his next question, but he’d never been able to pull his punches.

“Are you currently… uh… unintentionally… infringing?”

When Spock next spoke it was directly into Jim’s ear, his breath tickling the shell in a way that could not be misconstrued given their current conversation. And the tone of it had changed, deepened into what Jim could only describe as a rough purr. “You think very clearly for a human, Jim.”

He couldn’t suppress the shiver that caused or, unfortunately, the resulting wince of pain. Spock noticed both, of course, immediately moving his face back so that he was only breathing on Jim’s neck. Because that was so much _less_ sexual.

Still, though, Spock just hit on him. Kind of. That was… unexpected. He knew that Spock and Uhura weren’t together both because they’d had to log the change in their relationship with him and because Spock had told him outside official channels. They were friends and Spock was getting better at what that meant, but this was entirely new territory.

“That was inappropriate, captain. I apologize. This is neither the time nor the place for such an action.”

Implying there was a time and place for it. Cautiously, giving him plenty of time to move if he wanted to, Jim reached down and laid his hand over Spock’s.

The gasp from behind him went straight to his dick and produced some very clear thoughts for Spock to pick up on.

There was a slightly electric feeling where their hands met, a kind of tingly vibration and Jim realized he could feel Spock’s mind moving over his, brushing lightly but not pushing. It felt like when someone’s shirt brushed against yours standing too close together in the turbolift. The pressure of a secondhand sensation. Gentle, almost tentative. It was nothing like the full meld with the other Spock where Jim had felt his consciousness overpowered and shouldered aside.

He could also feel, sort of distantly, Spock’s feelings. Happiness that Jim had initiated skin to skin contact, that he had not overstepped. He could tell that Spock had been contemplating his own reactions to Jim, currently and from earlier today. Nothing specific but the general impression of his concern.

Spock answered his question before he could fully form the words to ask. “I admit I have been preoccupied with my feelings for you of late, Jim, and how to address them in the context of our current relationship. I had not intended to do so here at this time, but as you have broached the subject I see no reason not to continue.”

Jim huffed instead of laughing. It was slightly less painful. Very slightly. And people said he never learned from his mistakes.

Spock’s arm tightened reflexively as though shielding him from something external. He already knew that Spock would literally take a shot for him but the idea that that same protectiveness extended into this moment was poignant. It called to something deeply intimate that Jim thought he’d shed in his childhood when it had never been offered, or accepted.

His eyes stung.

Spock immediately relaxed his hold. “Have I hurt you?”

“No,” Jim answered, ignoring the slight tightness in his throat. He wished he could cough to clear it but he knew from experience that it was pretty much the worst idea after laughing and contrary to what Bones seemed to think, Jim did not actually enjoy hurting himself. “Not at all, Spock. Please, continue.” He ran his thumb across the back of Spock’s knuckles in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion. He considered for a moment and then tried to focus strongly on the feeling he got from Spock’s cuddling, the soothing feeling of being held by someone for whom he had great respect, great love, even.

He hadn’t precisely meant to think that, but it was true so he didn’t try to mask the feeling. Spock deserved his honesty in this. If he was even doing anything. He figured if he could project sexual fantasies at Spock without even trying that this might be doing something but he had no way of knowing it’s efficacy.

“As I said, Jim, you think very clearly.” Spock shifted so they were pressed more tightly together and since as he’d pointed out earlier, Vulcans do not fidget, it had to be deliberate. He pressed his nose into the fine hair at the back of Jim’s neck.

A horrible thought occurred to him. “I’m not doing anything to you, am I? By, uh, thinking at you like this? I’m not…” _Poisoning, manipulating, forcing you_ , his mind supplied.

“I am here,” Spock said, purring again in a way that made every nerve ending in Jim’s body pay close attention, the vibration running through his skin and spine, “because I wish to be. You are not influencing me to behave in any particular fashion. Your concern for my agency is appreciated, however misplaced.”

Jim let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, the fear draining away and replaced by a cool sensation. Peace and trust flowing over him, through him, with a distinctive clarity he recognized instinctively as Spock. It made him think of chewing peppermint leaves outside the farmhouse watching the sunset. The cool, sharp flavor on the back of his throat. The warmth of the sun on his face. Peace. Calm. A rarity in Jim’s childhood and only slightly more common now.

“If I am distressing you, you must tell me so that I can modify my approach, Jim.”

“What?”

Spock pulled back, propping himself up on his elbow so he could lean forward to see Jim’s face. “Your eyes are producing 25% more saline than they were only a few minutes ago. I can smell the increased salt. This usually precedes crying.”

Jim was only half listening. Most of him was now focused intensely on Spock’s lips and how they were only a few inches above his. That if he wasn’t injured and could bend at the waist like a functional human being he could lean up to press them together and that _Spock might allow him to do so_. He was also distracted by the revelation that Spock’s nose was sensitive enough to smell his tears and was therefore also probably strong enough to smell how turned on he was.

“I’m not crying, Spock.” And fuck, was that his voice all breathy and rough? That was just embarrassing. He chanced the pain to clear his throat, ignoring the sharp stab in his side. “I’ll tell you if something is wrong, okay?”

Spock considered him in that almost dispassionate way then nodded, briefly. “And I will do the same. That is a very logical solution, Jim, and should drastically increase the efficiency of our conversation.”

Jim laughed before he could check the impulse, the sound morphing into a choked groan that had Spock subsiding back down, curling protectively around Jim’s body until the shaking stopped. “What did I say about making me laugh?”

“I saw nothing humorous in my earlier statement.”

He could just picture the little frown on Spock’s face, the one reserved for Jim’s particular brand of irrationality.

Because Spock was Vulcan he did not sulk, but from Jim’s perspective it was a near thing. Learning to read Spock’s silences had taken him the better part of a year together. According to Bones that was a new record in perceptiveness for him. Then again, what the hell did Bones know? He was divorced.

“I have spent a large amount of time considering my emotional responses toward you over the last several months.” No exact figure. This was serious. “Beginning with your death and subsequent resurrection, I became aware that you were crucial to my sense of well-being. Your absence was one I could not abide and so I endeavoured to suppress my romantic inclinations toward you to preserve our friendship. I knew that you cared deeply for me as evidenced by your unwillingness to let me die on Nibiru but you had expressed no overtly romantic interest of your own.”

Jim felt his grip on Spock’s hand tightening. All that time spent thinking Spock didn’t return his feelings and they’d both been dancing around each other like idiots. “Until today,” Jim said.

“Yes.” Spock punctuated this with a nuzzle against the side of Jim’s neck that was not helping his concentration. “It was not until I heard you thinking of your attraction to me earlier that I understood your feelings are and have been romantic for some time.”

Jim turned to look over his shoulder, his cheek bumping lightly against Spock’s nose. In this position he could see the darkness of Spock’s hair, black against the lighter gray of the rock, and the tip of one worryingly white ear. Spock must have been colder than he thought. “You can feel all that just from a light touch?”

Spock hesitated and Jim was gratified to see the tip of his ear go faintly green. “There is a depth to your attraction that indicates it is not new. Your thoughts are unusually accessible to me. I was under the impression that you are psi null but that does not seem to be the case. I’m sorry for intruding on your privacy this way.”

Jim settled his head back down, snuggling into the crook of Spock’s arm. “Ah, yeah, that’s a common misconception. The official notation is psi negligible. I have a touch of pure receive but since it’s not really useful it usually gets lumped in with psi null. Plus I’ve had a little practice.”

Spock went still behind him before pressing almost fiercely closer, his words a rumble in Jim’s ear that had him instantly half hard in his pants. “With whom have you practiced this skill?”

“With you. The, uh, the other you.” Jim pressed back into Spock a little wantonly in a way he would have been ashamed of if he hadn’t been so turned on. “Since his original assertion of the universe imploding was a lie I’m guessing it’s safe to tell you now. He melded with me on Delta Vega to show me what I needed to know.” Jim stroked Spock’s knuckles absently, enjoying the smoothness of Spock’s skin and this new permission to touch it. He wondered if Spock was that soft everywhere. “He also showed me some things I don’t think he intended. I think his Kirk was true psi null so he didn’t shield anything.”

“Will you show me?” The question was almost shy and Jim felt keenly the fragility of the moment here. That if he wasn’t careful he might crush it like a butterfly underfoot.

He knew how serious it was for Spock to do this. Vulcans didn’t just casually meld to share information. It was an enormous intimacy and it said more about Spock’s feelings for him than anything they could bring themselves to say.

Jim brought Spock’s captive hand up to his face, excited and more than a little afraid. But this was Spock and whatever else might be true, he trusted Spock with his life.

Jim pressed a small kiss to the center of the palm and whispered, “Yes.”

+

Generally speaking, a meld would require intense focus on Spock’s part but Jim’s mind opened to him almost as soon as his fingers found the correct psi points. His presence flowed smoothly into Spock’s as though they had melded many times before even as he could feel that there had been only the single instance between Jim and the other Spock.

Jim’s mind was not organized as a Vulcan’s would have been but still carried a crystalline quality to the thoughts, each facet clear and defined in a way that was most surprising.

Though he had limited experience with human minds, the low level psychic noise he observed in his day to day life indicated that human thought was generally chaotic, disorganized. His own mother’s mind had been strangely abstract, thoughts shading one into the next without clear separation between concepts or ideas. Her mind was beautiful and organic like a half wild garden, surprising in its depths and colors, fluid in a way that Spock had never otherwise experienced.

Jim’s was very different but Spock sensed in them a similar self-possession. They were both self-aware, self-accepting in a way he found fascinating. There was no inner conflict in their nature despite what seemed to his Vulcan sensibilities a startling lack of self-awareness. They were what they were and did not seek to be otherwise.

The memory of cold swept forward, surrounding Spock as he now stood beside Jim on Delta Vega, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Even for Jim it was freezing and Spock felt regret for his part in this once again. It was illogical to continue apologizing for something he could not change so he did not but Jim sensed the flow of his thoughts, reaching out to clasp his hand, blue eyes piercing in the light of this sun.

“It’s okay, Spock. I did my own fair share of shameful things.” Remarkably, though Spock could feel Jim thinking of his insults on the bridge, they remained firmly in this memory, although they had moved inside a cave and Spock was once again looking at his own almost visage. It was comforting to learn that Jim found the experience almost as disconcerting as Spock did himself. Abruptly he felt the intensity that had been unintentionally unleashed in Jim because of his counterpart’s ignorance, the memory shifting again to the moment of the meld.

Jim had received all that Spock had to show him and a great deal more besides. It went some measure toward explaining Jim’s mental agility. He had received and was subconsciously applying Spock’s own mental techniques.

Spock also saw what Jim had seen. The love between that Spock and his captain. The depth and complexity of their bond. It was staggering and Spock watched as Jim physically did so under the remembered force of it. It had been nearly unbearable then and was only slightly less so now with distance to temper it.

The memory fell away, leaving Spock and Jim standing in a kind of nothingness for a moment before the bridge of the Enterprise formed around them. Without the focus on his memory from Delta Vega, Jim had subconsciously brought them to the moment when he provoked Spock into attacking him.

Spock’s own memory overlaid Jim’s but the rage he’d felt was muted and frail under the weight of Jim’s shame, his still urgent desire to atone. Spock believed he would never again think of this moment from purely his own perspective. Jim’s desperation would always be a remembered part of it now, his belief that he must do this in order to save Spock from his own course of action.

Most fascinating to Spock was the fact that he had been foremost in Jim’s thoughts. Not only had Jim wanted to save the people of Vulcan, he had wished to spare Spock in particular. Even so early in their initially contentious relationship, Jim did not think of him solely as an obstacle.

It was Spock’s turn to squeeze Jim’s hand, drawing on the memory of his mother’s touches to make it a comfort rather than a hollow gesture.

Jim’s curiosity wrapped around them and Spock surprised himself by saying, “Would you like to learn about my mother?”

“Yeah. Yes. I…” Jim’s shock and gratitude flooded their link alongside feelings of closeness, warmth, a deep affection that stretched back through their time together and which buoyed them in the present moment.

Spock turned and they were no longer on the bridge but in his parents’ home. His mother was moving gracefully around the kitchen preparing something. His father would be home in precisely ten minutes. Spock himself was seated in the common area pursuing his studies. His mother was humming a tune under her breath as she worked and Spock felt her loss again as though he were still standing with his arm outstretched, helpless to save her.

But Jim was with him this time and his presence anchored Spock in a way that was helpful. He was able to turn away from the abyss of her absence to focus on his memories of her life.

“She would cook for us on what she called special occasions. My birthday, a few Terran holidays adapted to Vulcan’s calendar. Though Vulcan had no true winter it did have a cooler season and at the beginning of it she would celebrate Yule.”

“What day was this?”

“Yule. I was ten standard years old. She was making cinnamon rolls adapted from the Terran recipe so that they contain no animal products. They were among my favorite of her adapted recipes and she always let me choose which recipe I would like to eat for the holiday.

“Although it was irrational to celebrate an event I had no part in, I still enjoyed her cooking and looked forward to it.”

He could feel Jim’s regard and answered his unspoken question. “This was the last time I requested cinnamon rolls.”

Young Spock raised his head for precisely ten seconds when Sarek arrived, saying as he always did, “Hello, father,” to which his father replied as he always did, “Hello, Spock,” before he crossed to Amanda’s location in the kitchen, leaning over her shoulder to kiss her cheek in a display Spock had never witnessed in any other household but which was common here.

“I did not truly realize that my mother was the source of my father’s contentment until after she died and I saw the complete change in his behavior and mental state, but in retrospect my parents were very happy for most of my life.”

Young Spock watched the curious display with his head tilted to the side -- a gesture that made Jim grin -- and then returned to his studies. I-Chaya stalked past Spock to investigate the smells in the kitchen and to hover in a threatening display behind Amanda, an activity that Spock suspected both parties secretly enjoyed despite the fact that Amanda would always chase I-Chaya away and I-Chaya would always protest very noisily as he had then.

“Wow, Spock, your mom was a badass. Aren’t _sehlats_ incredibly dangerous?”

Spock smiled faintly. “Yes, they are. She was fearless. Although the prejudice against me was high, I did not understand how much higher the prejudice was against her. My father had to explain to me that many people did not approve of his choice to take a human bondmate. It was my mother who gave me the best advice for how to deal with the personal attacks.”

The scene before them changed. They were outside now, watching his mother walk hand in hand with a very small, slightly upset Spock. His small self’s voice was reedy and thin, his limbs long and gangly in the aftermath of a growth spurt. “Their reactions to me are irrational but they refuse to acknowledge it. I do not know how I can proceed in my social relationships with my peers if they refuse to be logical.” Frowning, Spock added, “My marks in logical theory are higher than theirs. Perhaps they are unaware of their own misguided thinking.”

Amanda smiled down at him and though Spock did not understand why he smiled back. It was still acceptable at his age to do so. Children were not expected to have perfect control. Jim was equally amused beside him now.

“There’s an Old Earth saying that I think might be applicable. ‘Living well is the best revenge.’ Obviously you’re not interested in revenge, but I believe the intent of the saying is apt.” Seeing Spock’s confusion she continued, “You will never convince them with a logical argument that they are incorrect because they’re incapable of recognizing their own bias. The best thing you can do is ignore them and perform to the best of your ability no matter what they choose to say.

“You know they are wrong. Prove it to them.”

Spock considered, once again frowning. “Like you have done with the Elders?”

“Exactly that, _ashaya_ . They said I wouldn’t survive the bond with your father, and yet I have. They said I wouldn’t survive _pon farr_ but here I am. They warned that it was only a matter of time before I acted irrationally and was gravely injured, either by I-Chaya or by a wild beast. They didn’t believe a human could survive the rigors of Vulcan life, that I was too weak, and yet, here I am. They can no longer say those things because they have been proven incorrect.”

She squeezed Spock’s hand and Spock in turn squeezed Jim’s reflexively at the memory. “Don’t allow Vulcan superiority to cloud your judgment. You should be proud of your achievements and your heritage, confident in your skills. But don’t forget that your human heritage is also important and carries very different kinds of strength that most Vulcans do not understand.”

Young Spock looked slyly up at his mother, the corners of his mouth turned up. “I-Chaya could still decide to eat you.”

She sniffed delicately, her chin taking on an imperious tilt. “I-Chaya knows to be properly fearful of your terrifying mother, unlike a small and very ticklish half-Vulcan.” Having said so she lunged down, her fingers tickling Spock’s ribs while he laughed, squirming away but obviously smug having produced the desired effect.

Jim smiled brilliantly, his eyes shining with mirth and what Spock suspected might have been tears. “You were a cute kid. Was I-Chaya actually afraid of her?”

“I do not believe so, but I do believe I-Chaya respected her greatly.” Spock considered how to phrase his next statement. “I believe there was a bond between them. They both cared for the same people and in much the same way. First my father and then me. They were alike in that neither humans nor _sehlats_ are logical creatures.”

“That makes sense. The way humans and wolves bonded on Earth.”

“Indeed.”

“Thank you for showing me this, Spock.”

“Thank you for giving me a reason to remember her.”

Awareness of his body came back to him all at once. Along with the realization that noise from the river had increased by several decibels while he’d been in the meld with Jim. They had been in the meld for two hours twenty nine minutes.

Jim gasped as his mind refocused on the outside world, arching into Spock’s touch in a way that caused Spock’s body to curl tighter around him. This would normally be the moment in which he severed the bond from their meld, but he found he had no desire to do so. Nor did Jim, his mind reaching out along the link, searching for Spock’s presence. He had a powerful urge to bite down on the skin of Jim’s neck beneath his ear. That spot in particular seemed quite sensitive, but it was also of the utmost importance that he ascertain the status of the river.

Even in his disoriented state, Jim had also noticed the increase in sound. “Spock, am I over sensitive right now or is the river louder?”

“You are not over sensitive.” Being mindful of Jim’s ribs and back, Spock extracted himself from the embrace, forcing himself to ignore the regret he felt at doing so. It felt wrong that Jim not be in his arms now that he knew Jim would allow it.

Though they still had much to discuss, for the first time Spock was cautiously optimistic that Jim might be amenable to the kind of relationship Spock desired. Already the bond between them was growing, fed on both sides by their desire for continued closeness. Feeble and small compared to the one Spock had glimpsed through Jim’s memory but still, a bond. Through it he could sense Jim’s pain, the deep full body ache that had set in once he’d climbed out of the river. Saving him had cost Jim more than he had let on and his ribs pained him any time he breathed too deeply or with careless haste.

It was logical, he reasoned, to leave the bond as it was until they were safely aboard the Enterprise. This would allow Spock to monitor Jim’s health.

He reflected that Jim could most likely also feel his emotions and found himself strangely comforted by that. He hadn’t understood until establishing the bond with Jim that without his mother’s presence in his mind, he had been lonely. Many Vulcans were suffering with severed bonds following the destruction of their world but none of them were half human. Spock had deeply missed the human presence of his mother.

He made a mental note as he slipped out of the cave to ask his counterpart’s advice on the subject when they returned to the ship.

Outside the river had risen by approximately two meters and had picked up speed. The temperature had fallen dramatically and the sky was more opaque than ever, either from clouds or ion density. It’s color had deepened until it was a dark grey, the coloring unwavering as far as Spock could see. His breath hung before him in a small cloud.

Jim grunted as his came to his feet, pain lancing white hot through his chest; an echo of it in Spock’s as well. He reached to steady him on instinct. Jim needed medical attention as soon as possible, but the Enterprise had indicated it would be some time before they could get them off planet. The ion storm would not abate sufficiently for at least another nine hours forty three minutes.

“I don’t like the look of that river, Spock.” Jim sighed. “I’m not sure we can afford to stay here. And I don’t think I can make the climb. You’re going to have to go up. See if you can find a vine or something long enough to haul me up after you.”

“I had reached a similar conclusion earlier, but--”

“No arguments, Spock. It’s the only solution.” The note of command slipped into Jim’s voice seamlessly and Spock found himself responding automatically to his captain’s orders. Jim was correct. This was not the time for hesitation. Even a few seconds could be the difference between success and failure.

“Wait.” Spock stopped where he stood at the base of the cliff. Jim was advancing with the first aid kit. “Take this with you.” He reached up to drape it over Spock’s arm and shoulder, straightening the strap, his hands lingering on Spock’s chest. “And this.” Jim leaned forward and pressed his lips to Spock’s.

For a moment Spock was too stunned to respond to the kiss. He was aware of the pressure, the warmth of Jim’s mouth, the press and shift of his lips. Jim’s hand gripped the back of Spock’s neck causing a tingling sensation as the fledgling bond between them flared brightly. There was a feeling of intense joy that crashed through his mind and body as well as a fiercely protective affection.

Spock groaned and parted his lips, his tongue darting out to taste Jim, his hands seeking purchase at Jim’s waist. He remembered not to squeeze too tightly for fear of damaging him further, but it was a near thing. He fervently desired to pin Jim against the rocks and kiss him, claim him, mark his body in a way others could perceive. That it was illogical made no difference. He could feel how badly Jim wanted him, but below it he could also feel Jim’s fear.

It brought Spock back to himself and to the present moment. They broke apart simultaneously, their breath coming hard. Jim had a flush high on his cheeks. His lips were swollen and spit slick. Spock knew he probably looked much the same. He was more reluctant than before to release Jim entirely but he forced himself to relax his grip.

Jim stared at him hungrily, his eyes dark with want and fear. “Hurry back, okay?”

“Yes, Jim.”

Scaling the rock face was strenuous but did not seriously tax him. The exertion of it served to help warm him against the chill. What was surprisingly difficult was the glimpse he had as he stood of Jim staring up at him. He appeared small and very fragile from this distance. It was almost physically painful to turn away but Spock did. Jim needed him. Spock would not fail.

Though the planet was heavily forested, most of the flora were possessed of wide, dense trunks. Even the smaller shrubs were not appropriately shaped to be made into a rope. He stayed within range of their bond, going exactly as far away as he could while still sensing Jim clearly. It was only logical to remain in range with the captain, he reasoned, in lieu of a more standard method.

Spock had been searching for seven minutes twenty nine seconds and was considering attempting to strip the bark off a nearby tree to twist into rope when Jim’s panic crashed through their bond. Spock had a brief glimpse through Jim’s eyes of the frigid water frothing around his ankles, tearing at his feet. He heard the telltale roar of water speeding through the canyon. Somewhere farther up the mountain it must have indeed rained or snowed and now the resulting flood was speeding through the canyon with Jim trapped at the bottom.

Spock already knew he would be too late but he still set off at a sprint, his mind reaching for Jim’s. Fear for his life and for Spock’s. Fear that Spock would drown trying to save him. So much fear.

Spock was approximately thirty meters away when he felt Jim force down his fears replacing them with firm determination and resolve.

Jim narrowed his thoughts, shoving four words at Spock with all his focus. _Find me down stream._

Spock was approximately twenty meters away when Jim threw himself in the river to stay ahead of the worst flooding. He did not need to see this to know it was occurring. Illogically, he still ran to the edge where he had seen Jim last, staring down at the waters that were careening past at almost three times the river’s former speed and still rising.

He could not see Jim anywhere. If he had been able to, it was likely he would have done as the captain feared and gone in after him despite his own limitations. He also knew that was one of the reasons Jim had jumped into the river, to ensure it was wholly illogical for Spock to follow.

He could not feel the captain any longer. Jim had passed out of range, but Spock’s last impression from him was of cold, pain, and fright that skirted the edge of panic.

He did not calculate the crushing force the water would have had when it struck Jim’s body. He could not bring himself to.

+

Jim had lost all sense of time as he bobbed there, up and down, under the waves, cresting them briefly only to be plunged back down. His world had been reduced to the struggle to continue breathing. Even when his head was above water there had been the bitterly cold spray to contend with. He had no idea how much water he’d inhaled but his chest was heavy and he had a constant feeling like he was short on breath. Even he knew that was a bad sign.

And Spock had the first aid kit.

Well, minus the thermal blanket which was probably the only reason he survived. He hadn’t replaced it in the bag before sending Spock up the cliffs, out of harm’s way. He’d filled it with air and tied it off like a makeshift balloon. It was a technique he’d learned from his grandfather in case he ever went overboard on a fishing trip. Every time the waves forced him under, the balloon pulled him back up letting his head crest the water for another desperate gasp of air before the cycle repeated.

It felt endless. Three times he was thrown against the canyon walls and once something struck him hard in the back while he was under. He’d screamed and lost what little breath he still had. That was when everything had gone hazy and also when he’d inhaled the largest amount of water, he was pretty sure, but either way it had cost him his sense of time and direction. Eventually the water had slowed enough that he could tow himself to shore, hands almost completely numb, his both shaking with exhaustion and cold. He could only really kick with one leg. His bad ankle was in too much pain, but between the balloon and his good leg, he got himself to the shore.

That was probably too dignified a description. His entire body was numb and chilled. He fumbled and then crawled his way onto the shore making some truly pathetic noises along the way. Not that there was anyone around to hear him. He hoped. It would be just his luck to run into something big and hungry.

His breath puffed out in a cloud that hovered above him for a few seconds and then vanished. He stared up at the flat expanse of sky and shivered, his body spent, his mind almost as numb as his hands. Gradually, feeling returned to both.

Moving only his head, and that somewhat cautiously, he looked around. It was dark, still night time, and he was far enough away from the canyon that he couldn’t see it anymore. The high ground he thought he’d come from was on his left, but he couldn’t be sure. The river could have taken any number of turns. He might not even be on the same river. This could be an offshoot of the main tributary.

Spock might not even be looking for him in the right place.

He couldn’t feel Spock at all anymore. After the meld he’d been able to sense him in the back of his mind, like knowing where your arm or your leg was. The knowledge was just there along with a shallow impression of Spock’s emotional state, but now it was quiet. Empty.

He laughed bitterly to stop himself from crying. Even to his own ears it sounded just this side of hysterical but he couldn’t make himself stop.

“Come on, Kirk, get your shit together,” he said. Somehow saying the words out loud galvanized him into action. No way was he going to lie around uselessly until someone found him. He was James Tiberius Kirk. He didn’t believe in no-win scenarios.

He started small. Fingers and toes all moving and accounted for although the skin was stiff with tiny abrasions. Sharp little pains darted up his left ankle if he wiggled his foot too much. He skipped the ankle itself, tensing his knee cautiously. There was an ache as he flexed the muscle, probably a bruise. He’d need to splint the ankle if he was going to walk anywhere. Starfleet boots were nice and flexible which was great 90% of the time, but wouldn’t help him stand up.

His right leg was sore from kicking, a hollow feeling in all the muscles that said they would be screaming at him tomorrow. His stomach was empty and angry about it. That was going to be a problem soon. His ribs were probably more fucked than they were before but as long as he was laying still they were relatively quiet. It was his back that was low grade miserable but the cool dirt felt nice against the abused flesh. Though, the abused muscles felt more swollen than they had before. There was a… squishy quality, like walking on a blister. Pressure with fluid underneath. A brief slideshow of trauma training ran through his head that did not help. Images of dead, white flesh sloughing off bone.

Jim clenched his jaw and tensed his back. Shuddering, imprecise pain radiated through his entire torso in sick making waves. He rolled onto his mostly uninjured side and tried not to vomit. His mouth already tasted beyond foul and there was a hint of old blood. He couldn’t tell if it was because he’d bitten his tongue or split his lip. They both ached.

His voice was hoarse and shaking when he made himself speak. “That’s good. That’s a good thing. It’s good that it still hurts. That’s good.” The repetition didn’t convince him but it did help him focus again. He rolled over onto his hands and knees. His right shoulder ached. Wrenched from clinging on to the balloon. His chest felt heavy and he was still having trouble getting a deep breath.

On the bright side, he couldn’t feel his internal organs liquefying which was nice. He wasn’t bleeding internally that he could feel anywhere and the wetness in his lungs felt like water, not blood.

Not many people could say they knew what it felt like to be bleeding into their own lungs but Jim Kirk was one of them.

He could either hop on one foot or crawl. Neither painted a pretty picture.

A wet cough popped out before he could stop it and for one horrible second he was back in the warp core pressing his hand to the glass while Spock cried for him.

_Don’t think about it_.

Jim opted to crawl rather than risk his good leg, ignoring the fine tremors in his hands. He wasn’t thinking about how cold he was. One crisis at a time. He’d get moving and then he’d be plenty warm.

He conjured the memory of Spock as a distraction, remembering the searing heat of him wrapped around Jim’s body. Spock’s green ears when he blushed. The way he tilted his head when Jim was exasperating. The look in his eyes after Jim kissed him. He needed more of that last memory for his collection of Spock trivia.

He was going to add more of them, he decided, just as soon as he was back on board the Enterprise. He was going to start a library filled with Spock’s various debauched faces. He was going to find out just how green Spock could get. Their connection would probably feel amazing during sex. A feedback loop of mutual pleasure.

He should send the other Spock a fruit basket for unintentionally showing Jim his future. Or maybe he should punch him for manipulating them into this. It was hard to tell sometimes what to resent and what to be grateful for.

His mental rambling kept him distracted all the way to the edge of the fat, squat little brush line. He needed shed branches. He had nothing to cut them down with so he was stuck with whatever he could find on the ground.

He tried imagining what Spock would look like first thing in the morning. Even though they shared a bathroom he’d never seen Spock right out of bed. Would he be sleep rumpled with pillow creases pressed into his cheeks or did he sleep very logically, flat on his back for optimal spinal alignment? He hadn’t seemed to mind spooning in the cave, but that might have been for other reasons.

He jarred his ankle against a tree root and gritted his teeth through the pain. “Where is all the fucking deadfall wood in this _god damn fucking forest_!?”

Getting pissed wasn’t going to help anything. It was a waste of his energy and so was screaming to stop himself from crying. He paused, taking deep breaths through his nose. In and out. In and out. Pain was nothing. He could master this. He would master this. He’d been worse off than this from bar fights. This was nothing. Deep breaths. In and out.

He focused in on his lungs as they expanded in his chest, and then farther in on his heart. He felt the blood moving through his body. The longer he breathed, the more everything seemed accessible. Time was both spooling and sudden. He examined the pain, measured it, tested it, and then tamped it down. He was aware of all the various complaints in his body but now they were farther away, much more manageable.

Dimly, he recognized that he had slipped into a meditative state but since it was irrelevant he set that fact aside. Maybe this was what it felt like to be Vulcan. It would help explain why Spock was so much better at controlling himself.

Slowly and with greater deliberation, Jim scanned his surroundings and spotted a piece of sturdy fallen wood. Moving made the calm waver. He could hold onto it when he was perfectly still but any kind of motion disturbed that inner equilibrium.

It was possible he wasn’t meditating at all. He might have been bleeding into his brain instead. That was also a possibility. Either way the mental vertigo made his progress slow, awkward, and his shaking was getting worse, not better. It was like he was a candle and every movement made him flicker. He avoided thinking about what was going to happen next.

As Spock would say, worry was pointless.

To remove the boot or not remove the boot. With his ankle still inside it he couldn’t look at the injury but if the boot came off there was no way it was going back on. Right now it was acting as a kind of compression bandage preventing the swelling from going up too much. As soon as it came off his ankle would probably be about the size of a grapefruit.

On, then. The boot would at least keep him from shredding his foot as he walked. The concept of walking anywhere was verging on relentless optimism in his current circumstances but it still made more sense to leave it on.

This was going to hurt plenty without the added jostling of taking off clothes.

He avoided thinking about it until he had torn five strips off his overshirt and by then the adrenaline was already flooding his animal brain. It wasn’t until the moment he had tied the knot, the strip wrapped around his ankle and the wood pressing into his swollen joint that he paused to steady his hands.

This was really going to hurt. He clenched his jaw and pulled it tight.

Jim didn’t really have the breath to scream, but he gave it his best shot. He kept the pain at arm’s length right up until he secured the last tie and had just enough presence of mind to roll under the cover of the shrubs before passing out.

Walking, he reflected, had been an extremely optimistic goal.

+

The canyon ran for approximately two point nine kilometers, the walls becoming shorter and shorter until finally the river was simply bordered on both sides by rock. This greatly simplified things seeing as Spock would not have to concern himself with finding a way down, however the fact that the river forked three kilometers past that greatly lowered Spock’s chances of locating the captain within the next several hours.

He had passed three smaller streams breaking off from the main body of water already and discarded them as possible routes for the captain. All were relatively shallow and slow moving. This was a true divide in the water’s course and there was an approximately equal chance Jim had been carried down either.

It had been one hour and fifteen minutes since Spock had last seen Jim and though his connection with him had not severed, indicating he was alive, he could not feel Jim through it. Either the distance was still too great or Jim was not conscious.

Both possibilities presented negative outcomes and Spock had to consciously rein in his frustration. It did not serve to further his goal and was therefore an irrational response but he was having difficulty dealing with his current helplessness. Jim had already been injured before jumping off the cliff to save Spock. The temperature was still dropping. Jim would be at severe risk of hypothermia and was now no doubt in serious medical trouble.

And Spock could not help him.

With an effort of will, Spock centered himself and approached the problem again. There were only two answers. He reexamined the riverbank nearest him looking for signs of an impact, any bit of Jim’s clothing or body.

On a rock barely visible above the spray, Spock saw a glint of silver. He mentally reviewed all the rocks he had seen thus far in the canyon and on the riverbed for any that featured the color. There had been none. He inspected the rocks he could see nearby and again, no silver.

Jim had not been wearing anything silver other than his Starfleet badge, but it was an anomaly and the only sign Spock could find of anything unusual.

There was no way to calculate an accurate probability that the mark was from Jim’s passage without a more comprehensive knowledge of the area and its minerals. If he chose incorrectly it might well mean Jim’s death but he could discern no other signs of any passage.

The anomaly would have to be enough. Spock set off at a run giving the river a wide berth. In places it had overflowed the banks entirely and created small, marshy areas that Spock had to circumvent in order not to lose time mired in them. His pace was still slower than he wished, his efficiency hindered by his still slightly damp clothing, the pack bouncing against his hip, the uneven terrain. The cold air hurt his lungs with every breath, strangely crisp as though all the moisture had been sucked out of it.

At his current pace he could cover a distance of roughly sixteen kilometers per hour allowing for variance in his speed due to natural obstacles. He would continue down this side of the river for one hour, he decided, then return to the fork if he had found no sign of Jim.

There was a minimum of seven hours nine minutes before they had hope of rescue.

Something at the river caught his attention. He stopped, picking his way closer to the bank. The water was shallower here and slower moving so he had a much clearer view of the rocks at the bottom. There was no mistaking the bright, silver stripe rubbed against the river bed. It was too far into the flow for him to wade in and examine it more closely besides which he could not lower his temperature further without serious consequence, but the mark was of a depth and position to indicate something had been pressed down, rubbed against the bottom, and been carried on.

Some foreign object had definitively been carried down this branch of the river.

It might have been Jim.

In the end it was almost pure chance that Spock found him at all. Jim had concealed himself in the underbrush cleverly. If the temperature had not dropped, Spock might not have seen puff of his breath rising in the dark.

It was also the temperature that was now their greatest enemy. Jim’s skin was extremely pale, almost translucent under the dirt and grime, searingly cold against Spock’s fingers and worst of all, he felt no answering flare of contact from Jim’s mind. It was entirely too similar to how he’d looked lying in a biobed, half dead and infected with Khan’s blood.

A quick scan of the tricorder showed Jim suffering from moderate hypothermia, dehydration, and his previously catalogued injuries but it was a miracle he had survived the river at all, let alone with enough strength to bind and splint his now broken ankle.

Spock pulled Jim immediately into his lap ignoring the frigid chill emanating from Jim. His first priority was to bring Jim’s core temperature up to an acceptable level, but that was only the most pressing concern. After a moment of consideration, he tucked Jim’s hands between his thighs, let his head rest against Spock’s shoulder and neck, and wrapped an arm around the captain’s back to keep him close.

With his free hand, Spock dug through the medical supplies, injecting Jim with an electrolytic compound. There was a small twitch as the needle pierced his skin but he was otherwise worryingly quiescent. Spock tried to recall the extensive list of Jim’s allergies. An anti-contusional would reduce the trauma to Jim’s back and shoulder, but if he had an allergic reaction in his weakened state, his odds of survival were less than ten percent and those were not acceptable odds.

He suppressed his urge to shiver and pulled out the communicator.

“This is Commander Spock calling the Enterprise. I require Dr. McCoy. Over.” He waited two minutes and repeated himself, Jim’s breath hot on his neck in sharp contrast to the chill of his skin.

A glint caught his eye under the nearby shrubs that went some way toward explaining Jim’s survival. The thermal blanket, scraped and battered from its trip in the river, still tied into an improvised flotation device. It rolled closer with the slight breeze. Stretching his arm out to its fullest length, he could just reach it and he set to work untying the knots Jim had used to seal it.

A loud burst of static came through on the communicator along with the distinct accent of Dr. McCoy. “...ock, come in, damn it. Uhura, can’t you… earer. Spock, come in. Over.”

“Dr. McCoy, Jim is injured. He needs an anti-contusional but I cannot risk an allergic reaction. You must tell me what to give him and in what dose.” He belatedly realized he should have used Jim’s title over the official channel but it was very likely the interference obscured his unprofessional lapse. “I repeat, the captain requires an anti-contusional. What medication should I administer and in what dose? Over.”

He set the communicator down so he could drape the blanket over Jim, tucking it under his own body to insulate them from the ground. The relief was instant. Against him, Jim started to shiver and Spock held him closer as if by will alone he could press his warmth into Jim’s flesh.

“...this channel as clear as you can, Uhura. Spock, administer four ccs kentrazine. Confirm. Repeat, four ccs kentrazne. Confirm. Over.”

Spock searched the med kit diligently, refusing to allow himself to shiver. This required steady hands. He could shake as much as he required once Jim was stabile.

McCoy’s professionalism precluded him from panicking, but the urgency was clear. “Spock, four ccs kentrazine. Confirm! Over!”

Spock spared the second to reply quickly, “Four ccs kentrazine, confirmed. Over.” He was unwilling to release Jim so he loaded the cartridge single handedly, gratified when the twitch this time was stronger. A groan escaped Jim’s lips and in Spock’s mind, a small spark flashed for an instant.

He forced himself not to reach after it. He could not afford to lose track of the physical now no matter how tempting. Jim would come back to him as he always did. He would find his way.

McCoy’s voice crackled across the channel. “Six hours, Spock, and then we’re coming to get you. McCoy out.”

He did not correct the doctor. They had six hours fifteen minutes until the earliest possibility of rescue.

He pulled the blanket tighter around them and pressed his nose into Jim’s hair, seeking the familiar scent of him. Jim’s shivering intensified. Spock did not believe in a deity so he did not pray. He did, however, make an appeal.

_Do not leave me again, Jim. Please._

Jim moaned and it was not a sound of relief. Spock curled his body more tightly around the captain and then gave in to the urge to shiver.

+

His skin was on fire. It burned and ached and throbbed. He lashed out, blindly, the fabric of his clothes chafing even as he tried to fight.

Strong, hot hands caught his, stilled him with what he knew was carefully restrained strength.

He gasped, “Spock!”

“Calm, Jim. You must not fight.” The voice rumbled through him, close enough to make his hair stand on end. Close enough to make his skin ache and itch painfully.

It took everything he had to fight down the instinct to struggle. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, his arms and chest shaking so hard he might as well still be struggling. “Sp-pock, what’s-s-s--”

Jim clenched his jaw and clutched at his own legs to minimize his movements, forcing himself to press closer to Spock’s blazing heat. It was obvious what had happened. There was only one relevant question. Through his teeth Jim hissed, “How l-long?”

Spock pressed a hand against the nape of Jim’s neck, holding him steady through the pain. Offering his strength for Jim to lean on. “Three hours eighteen minutes.”

His skin felt both brittle and inflamed, his every tremor serving only to highlight the agony. In his current state that might as well have been an eternity. He grinned against Spock’s neck feeling like the skin on his face was about to split open any second.

“Think you can-n stand m-me for...that long?”

“I believe I will find a way to endure.”

Spock’s presence bloomed across the edges of Jim’s awareness and the pain seemed much farther away.

“‘S a neat t-trick,” Jim managed, sighing at the space in mind where the pain had been. It wasn’t a full meld, not even close, and he knew from the other Spock’s memories that the ease of their connection was unusual. That this kind of casual mental contact shouldn’t be possible except between bondmates but he wasn’t about to question it. Just another anomaly to add to their personal tally. Later, maybe, when he wasn’t ready to claw his own skin off he could wonder about it.

Maybe he could convince Spock to testify on his behalf to Bones vis a vis the masochism debate. He now had a definitive witness that it just wasn’t true.

Spock’s diaphragm hitched.

Jim was surprised enough he tried to open his eyes, which burned just as much as the rest of his skin, incidentally. He hissed in pain, but turned it into a long exhale. “‘D you just laugh?”

He blinked rapidly until the sting faded enough to make out the shape of Spock’s collarbone, the firm line of his arm where it was wrapped around Jim.

“Perhaps,” Spock said, his fingers threading gently through Jim’s hair. For someone who until today had barely touched him he was surprisingly good at it. “You must rest, Jim.”

“Not tired.” The shakes were starting to subside and in their place he found all those other pains he’d apparently mislaid in the face of death. He didn’t care that he was being dramatic. He thought he was entitled under the circumstances.

His vision was a little fuzzy and he blinked to clear it, but the fuzziness remained. He’d probably need corneal regeneration or something equally painful for Bones to have a field day with, but the fuzz was moving, and Spock’s arm wasn’t.

He frowned. “Spock, am I seeing things or is it snowing?”

“You are not hallucinating.” Spock tipped his head back to give Jim a better view.

It had been snowing for a while, apparently. Everything was coated in a few centimeters or so of soft, pillowy snow, that strange quiet feeling hanging over the forest. Even the sound of the river seemed far off. Or maybe it was starting to freeze over. In the planet’s green light, the snow was almost the exact color of Spock’s skin.

Jim tipped his own head back far enough to see Spock’s face. There was a faint dusting of flakes on his hair and his ears were a really worrying green, but his eyes were clear and steady. He somehow managed to look bemused and worried without actually using a facial expression. Speaking of neat tricks. “This planet has some truly shit weather. Are we okay here or do we need to move?”

“The thermal blanket provides sufficient insulation for me to regulate my body temperature.” Spock considered. “I would recommend that you stay in your current position, however. Your body heat is a significant portion of the reason I am able to maintain my own at a satisfactory level.”

Seeing as his current position was curled up in Spock’s lap, that wouldn’t be a hardship. Except for the fact that it felt like Spock’s body temperature was cooking him alive it was pretty comfortable, if a little too regression-to-childhood for his personal pride.

Spock frowned down at him and Jim belatedly realized Spock could probably feel his discomfort.

“It’s not that bad,” he hedged, but Spock was already reaching for the med kit, his hand leaving the back of Jim’s neck cold and strangely bereft. He caught Spock’s arm lightly by the wrist, their eyes meeting and holding as he rolled his thumb over the smooth skin and hard bone. It was a clumsy hold, hindered by his stiff, numb digits but Spock didn’t even try to pull away. “I don’t need anything for the pain. I’m not even shaking anymore, see?”

After a long moment, Spock nodded and Jim let his head fall back onto Spock’s shoulder. He kept Spock’s wrist in his hand, drawing it in to rest against both their chests. Spock curled his fingers into the fabric of Jim’s shirt and let out a long breath. Almost a sigh.

Jim frowned. “I can’t believe I splinted my leg for nothing.”

Spock’s thumb rubbed soothingly at Jim’s chest, amusement humming through their connection. With so much contact it was almost like there was no separation at all. Like he and Spock would just press together closer and closer until there was only one mind, one body.

That should probably worry him, he knew, but he found it comforting. It’s not like he didn’t already know he had unhealthy boundaries and to have something he’d spent so long wanting was a heady pleasure. He could have his existential crisis later. Right now he had Spock and that was enough.

“Is it wrong that I’m glad the shuttle crashed?” he asked into the quiet hush of the falling snow.

It seemed worth all the pain leading up to it to feel Spock turn his head and rest his chin on Jim’s forehead in a gesture of such casual intimacy it made his eyes water again. “No.”

Jim let his eyes drift shut.

“Sit down, damn it! I’m not finished with your ears.”

Jim blinked, groggily. He didn’t remember falling asleep or beaming back on board, but he had spent enough time staring at the ceiling in sickbay to know where he was even without Bones yelling at someone.

Possibly Spock. Probably Spock.

“And you! Don’t think I don’t know you’re awake over there, Jim. You’re next!”

So much for stealth. Jim scooted up the bed until he was partially vertical, propped up by his small mountain of pillows. Across the room, Spock was sitting on the edge of his bed staring placidly at Bones, the picture of patience. Bones looked about ready to snap his neck.

“My ears are quite recovered,” Spock replied. “Nurse Chapel has informed me the nerve regenerator completed its work and that I am cleared to leave if I choose.”

Jim did a quick calculation and figured they’d been in sickbay for about six hours if the nerve regenerator had had time to correct frostbite. His ribs ached with the newness of fresh bone but he could breathe without pain again and his vision was back to normal.

His ankle was still wrapped in a knitter so he definitely wasn’t going anywhere, plus there were a few numb patches on his back that would need nerve repair, probably. Not exactly the best circumstances for making a daring escape.

“Acid snow,” Bones scoffed. “Honestly, you’re almost as bad as he is.”

Spock’s eyebrow twitched. “You would rather I had prioritized superficial damage above the captain’s health?”

Ignoring Spock completely, Bones consulted his scanner, seemingly satisfied with the results because he turned away and advanced on Jim.

“I’m curious,” Bones started, deceptively calm as he brought his scanner to bear. “Spock tells me that after crashing a shuttle you thought it was a good idea to throw yourself in a river twice and I’d just like to know how you managed to pass your psych evals so I can send Starfleet a detailed report on how to screen for your particular kind of crazy.”

Bones jabbed him with a hypo as soon as he opened his mouth. “ _Ow_.”

Bones shoved the tricorder in his face menacingly. “If you can throw yourself off a damn cliff with fractured ribs you can handle a god damn hypo! What the hell were you thinking?”

Jim glanced a little guiltily at Spock’s now empty bed. He’d run while Bones was distracted. All Jim’s guilt evaporated as he narrowed his eyes. That traitor had left him to fend for himself.

Jim sighed and let his head fall back on the pillows. “Yeah, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

He tuned Bones out and considered the shape of things for the first time. Not just the fact that he and Spock seemed to be on the same page with their feelings but what that would look like now that they were back in the real world.

Fraternization regs were a thing that happened on paper and never quite worked out the way they were supposed to in practice. A lot of the time they ended up meaning whatever the Starfleet official on the other end of the request wanted them to mean depending on the desired outcome. Starfleet was theoretically military but given their focus on exploration and expansion, they had to allow that people trapped on the same ship for years on end weren’t all going celibate.

He and Spock would have to notify Starfleet once they’d had a chance to talk and Spock would have to testify that Jim hadn’t manipulated him into a relationship.

He snorted at the very idea of anyone trying to coerce Spock into anything, but even so they’d have to tread carefully so that neither of them were reassigned. It was one thing for two Ensigns to have a shipboard romance. Quite another when both people had to sit in the chair. There would be psych evals to prove they weren’t emotionally compromised where command decisions were concerned.

It was daunting to consider in its entirety. There were a lot of ways this could still go wrong even if in the most important way it was going right.

He needed to talk to Spock.

Which meant he needed to get out of sickbay.

“Hey, you should start the nerve regenerator on my back now. Save some time.”

Bones froze mid scan, his eyes fixing on Jim’s face with frightening intensity. “Did you just ask me for more medical treatment?”

Jim swallowed. “Yes?”

Bones tossed the scanner on the nearest piece of equipment and slapped the button for a privacy screen before Jim could fully process how much he’d probably just admitted to. His arms crossed over his chest and his eyebrows drew together ominously. “Start talking, Jim.”

Jim sighed deeply, and said, “Fine, but can I talk and regrow nerves at the same time?”

“You’re an enormous pain in my ass, you know that?” But his hands were already moving over the biobed controls, preparing the treatment and Jim smiled. Bones caught sight of it and jabbed a finger toward Jim’s face. “Talk or I’m going to have a sensor malfunction and you’re going to be in this bed for the next week.”

“So… what do you know about Vulcan courtship?”

The look Bones turned on him was both horrified and furious. “Tell me you’re joking. Not even you are that stupid. Please tell me you’re not that stupid. He’s your god damn First Officer, Jim! This is the definition of a terrible idea!”

Jim stared at nothing for a few seconds, his mind turning over all the potential complications he’d already considered and more. He thought of the press of their lips and the feel of Spock’s hands, soft and smooth under Jim’s fingers. He looked back up at Bones and said, “Yeah, it is, but I don’t think it’s one I can walk away from."

All the anger fell away until what was left was the worry in Bones’s face, stripped bare by Jim’s admission. “Aw, hell. You’re serious.”

They stared at each other as the fact of it settled over them and then Bones nodded, his hands suddenly a flurry of activity. “All right, kid, I can get you out of here in four hours but it ain’t going to be fun.”

Jim blinked. “Wait, really?”

Bones snorted. “Yes, really. Because the sooner I get you out of here the sooner you two can sort out… whatever it is you need to and no, Jim, I do not want details.”

“Thanks, Bones.”

Not one to waste an opportunity, Bones jabbed him immediately with a hypo and said, “You can thank me by not getting yourself thrown back in my sickbay for at least the next two weeks. Off a cliff. Unbelievable.”

“Did he tell you about the part--”

“Stop talking before I change my mind about this discharge.”

Jim let himself be prodded and tilted his head back. He thought of the shuttle. “Computer, connect me to Acting Captain Scott.”

“You’re not on duty,” Bones pointed out, but he made no move to disconnect the line so Jim ignored him.

It was Sulu’s voice that came through on the line. “Captain, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Good to see Scotty didn’t crash my ship while I was incapacitated,” Jim answered, smiling despite himself. “Mr. Sulu, did Commander Spock talk to you about the shuttle yet?”

“Aye, sir. He debriefed us on the situation as soon as we beamed you back on board. We’re running active diagnostics now on all remaining shuttle craft and checking all access logs to recreate a timeline since the last diagnostic scan.” Sulu’s voice was flat and a little grim. Jim had never quite understood why Bones said Sulu could be scary until right then but he believed him. “We’ll find whoever is responsible, sir.”

“Let me know when you do. Kirk out.”

+

Spock was not surprised that Jim came to see him following his release from medical but he was surprised Jim had talked Dr. McCoy into releasing him a mere four hours after Spock’s own discharge.

Jim looked significantly better than he had on the planet but he could still not be described as well. He was overly pale, his eyes surrounded by dark circles and he moved tiredly, favoring his newly mended ankle. There was a tightness to his features that indicated pain as though his skin was stretched too tightly over his bones. He looked weary, but he still offered up a brilliant smile when Spock opened the door.

He was still beautiful and Spock yearned to touch him with an intensity that was frightening.

But this was not an uninhabited planet and they had much to discuss before he could take those kinds of liberties again. He stepped aside, hands clasped tightly behind his back to give Jim room to enter.

Though his smile dimmed, Jim came in readily enough making his way to what Spock had privately begun referring to as Jim’s chair. He was the only one who ever used it, generally during their chess matches but also for the occasional meal or debriefing.

Spock was unsure what to do with himself, a feeling he was unaccustomed to in his own quarters. If this were a friendly visit he would sit opposite Jim at the table, or perhaps on the bed if he wished distance between them but neither action seemed appropriate in context. He did not wish there to be distance between them at all.

A tense silence had descended in the wake of Spock’s hesitation and Jim’s eyes moved over the room restlessly as though he would find the correct words hidden somewhere amongst Spock’s belongings.

Jim sighed, “This is stupid,” and stood abruptly. Spock was at his side in an instant, something he could only describe as panic rising quickly in his mind. He grabbed Jim’s arm just above the elbow, the only clear thought that he could not let Jim leave without making an effort to convince him. He would not make the mistake of interpreting silence again.

Jim blinked, surprise written in every line of his body, but he leaned into Spock’s touch, placed his own hand on Spock’s arm in answer. “Hey, relax. I wasn’t…” He made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “I didn’t mean this,” he gestured vaguely to the space between them, “was stupid. I meant I was being stupid, overthinking it. I wasn’t trying to leave.”

Spock considered for a moment, revising his earlier conclusion that this moment be treated differently than their interactions on the still unnamed planet. “Come with me.” He waited for Jim’s nod before he led them to the bed. He could hear Jim’s heart beating fiercely in his chest, but the smell of the sickbay prevented Spock from ascertaining the reason and it settled into a somewhat more regular rhythm when Spock merely sat with his back against the headboard leaving space for Jim to do the same.

They had experienced minimal difficulty when speaking in the cave and when huddled together for warmth therefore it was likely a more intimate seating arrangement would assist them now.

Jim stared at him for a moment before ordering, “Scoot down. My back’s not finished baking yet.” Spock raised his eyebrow but obliged, repositioning himself so he was flat on his back. Jim lifted his arm aside and then settled himself against Spock’s body, his head resting lightly on Spock’s shoulder. His back was safely away from the mattress and Spock’s hand fell on his waist rather than against the newly restored skin.

“The nerves are still settling,” Jim explained. “Bones gave me a rush job so I could get out of there faster.”

“Is that not dangerous?”

Jim shrugged. “Not as long as we’re careful.”

A warm feeling came over Spock with the word ‘we’re’ that had nothing to do with Jim’s proximity. He allowed himself to relax into the sensation rationalizing that it would be necessary to acclimate to a new baseline of emotional response if they were going to be physically intimate going forward.

“So while I think my intentions are pretty clear, in the interest of full disclosure I should tell you I have no idea how to navigate a relationship with anyone, let alone a Vulcan.” Jim’s tone was conversational, a simple statement of fact concerning his history and experience but there was anxiety swirling under his skin. “I’ve never had an actual relationship in my life and I’m not sure how much I can trust the data dump from other you to be accurate.”

“If his memories have led to you calling the transference a ‘data dump’ then you are right to question their veracity.”

Jim nuzzled at the skin under Spock’s ear. “I love it when you get bitchy with me.”

Though the gesture was unobserved, Spock raised an eyebrow. It was possible Jim would feel and correctly interpret his muscular tension. “Then it is fortunate you provide me with ample opportunity.”

“See? That right there. Who needs affection when you can have snippy Vulcan insults?”

It was strange to find that their dynamic was exactly the same despite the change in their boundaries but Spock was grateful for the consistency. He realized only as the fear evaporated that he’d been concerned their friendship would not translate well into a romantic relationship. It was a profound relief to be proven wrong.

Jim’s silence was a heavy one and Spock steeled himself for what he was sure was going to be a difficult topic. He was right to do so because after a pause Jim said very quietly, “I don’t know if this applies to you or not but I have to ask. T’Pring?”

Of all the myriad possibilities Spock had anticipated, he had not imagined this but perhaps he should have. Though he was fully aware Jim possessed intimate knowledge of his other self, it was still surprising to remember that Jim knew of things he had told no one on board the Enterprise. Indeed, no one in Starfleet.

Spock stared resolutely at the ceiling. “T’Pring and I were not well matched. We dissolved our bond shortly after I rejected a position at the Vulcan Science Academy.” Jim tightened his arm around Spock’s waist. “She did not wish to be the consort of a Starfleet Officer.”

In reality, this was only partly correct. T’Pring was a traditionalist who favored Vulcan custom and Vulcan ways. A half-human mate had never been a logical choice for her although the match would have increased her social standing as the daughter of an Ambassador. Spock privately suspected that was the primary reason her family had agreed to the bond in the first place given their feelings on outworlders.

It was perhaps, he realized, also the reason his father had so emphatically encouraged him to be as Vulcan as possible.

“That was her loss,” Jim said, brushing a hand along Spock’s side over his heart. Whether that placement was intentional or fortuitous was not important, Spock decided. The sentiment was undoubtedly the same and the repetitive stroking was soothing in a purely physical sense.

Spock forced himself to speak past the strange, tense feeling in his chest and throat. Jim had been nothing but honest with him. He would not return that candor with half truths. “At the time of our severing, the healers informed us that our bond was not healthy. T’Pring attributed this to my mixed heritage and believed a fully matured bond between us would not have been possible.”

Jim’s hand went still. “Spock, you know that’s not true. We… uh… the other us…” Jim sighed. “God, I hate time travel. In the other timeline -- the other universe, we were bonded. And I might be talking out of my ass here but ever since we melded on the planet I’ve been able to feel you in my head. Seems to me you can bond just fine.”

“I was not aware you recognized the preliminary bond.” Spock stared resolutely at the ceiling, marshalling himself for the inevitable. Whatever Jim wished to do about the bond he would abide by. “If you wish, I can dissolve it.”

A flare of hurt unfurled in Spock’s mind. At his side Jim went completely still. “Is that what you want?” More quietly, not quite what Spock would describe as shyly, Jim added, “Because it’s not what I want.”

Spock tightened his grip on Jim as much as he dared. “Good.”

As quickly as it came, the hurt vanished in a wash of amused delight and Jim muffled his laughter against Spock’s shoulder. It was a pleasant sensation that caused a feeling of warmth to radiate through Spock’s body.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but I’m going to pass out on you soon.” Jim sighed, nuzzling closer. “Not exactly how I envisioned our first night together.”

“Sleep, ashayam. I will be here when you wake up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translation of Vulcan phrases:
> 
> Ka'i - "I am right here" lit. "here now"  
> Rom - "good"  
> yi nam-tor ish-veh klopau - "then it is decided. " lit. "then be (it) that one decision"  
> ashayam - “beloved”
> 
> Trigger Warnings:
> 
> Spock is at one point submerged in water and cannot get to the surface on his own. He experiences panic and burning sensations in his lungs.
> 
> Kirk is forced to treat his own semi-severe injuries including splinting his own leg and having trouble breathing thanks to broken ribs.


End file.
